


Revenge Tastes So Sweet

by Ohio_Doe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alistair is an Ass, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Bad at tagging, Basically hell, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Bottom Dean Winchester, But like not accurate historical, Castiel Saves Dean Winchester, Character Death, Dark, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, M/M, Mad Castiel, Older Castiel (Supernatural), Revenge fic, Sad Dean Winchester, Smut, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Topping from the Bottom, Torture, Tortured Dean Winchester, Vampire Castiel (Supernatural), Vampire Dean Winchester, Vampire Sam Winchester, Vampire Sex, Will add tags as I go, passing of time, there will be blood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-09 21:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18925048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohio_Doe/pseuds/Ohio_Doe
Summary: The door to his room opened, moonlight flooding in, burning Dean’s unused eyes. Alistair had come back, he thought. He was back and he wasn’t done.





	1. How avant-garde.

**Author's Note:**

> Think of Interview with a Vampire but they're in love. Castiel didn't create Dean though.
> 
> Ma puce= my flea (Made me giggle but it is a romantic nickname)  
> Mon loup - My wolf/my protector
> 
> This work is unbeta'd
> 
> There is no release schedule due to my work hours but I'll try my best!

 

Dean was turned into a vampire in 1842 by a sadistic man. His sire’s name was Alistair Whitlocke, the worst man that Dean had the displeasure to ever meet. He was taken from his family when he was 23, late at night, the sky dark and the streets empty. He wasn’t aware of what was happening until he was basically dead, sucking blood from the man’s wrist.

Alistair had held Dean captive for forty years, chaining him to a wall, breaking his bones daily, bleeding him nearly dry before Dean started to heal and he would start it all over again. Twice Dean had escaped, never getting far. The devil had men posted all over town, taking him down easily, dragging him back to his hell. He started to lose his faith in God.

He even tried to kill himself once, wanted to end the torment he was forced to ensure. He wasn’t learned in the ways of vampire lore, being sheltered in the dungeon that was his home, but he watched Alistair when he killed his minions that didn’t do a good enough job. He knew that you had to bleed a vampire out, behead it, or even burn it to ash. He tried to bleed himself dry, cutting and slashing at his flesh. Alistair had caught him, making him drink, making him heal, and his torture only became worse.

Alistair went from breaking his bones to subjecting Dean to hours of sunlight and holy oil baths. His skin was constantly red and blistered, unable to move without pain seeping from his pores. He stopped crying after ten years of Alistair’s torture, almost becoming numb. He still felt it, don’t mistake that, he felt every blister and cut and bone being broken. He stopped reacting. That was his sire’s attraction, the reaction.

He’d heard that the reason he turned Dean before he started torturing him was the fact that humans died too easily. Alistair grew tired of them dying before he was done with them, grew tired of feeding them. All he had to feed Dean was the blood he left inside of an innocent, dead and cold before Dean got his hands on the corpse.

He starved, not getting the food or blood he needed to grow or heal properly. For forty years, he was weak, he was small, and he couldn’t fight back. For forty years, he memorized the names of all those who entered his maker’s home, keeping a list in his head. He memorized the faces, the names, the possible locations he could find them.

In the summer of 1882, Dean’s “Sunbaths” were extended, lasting almost as long as the day. When the sun set, he was pulled from the sunroom and shoved into a small cement room, left to heal what he could before the sun rose and it all started again.

He didn’t sleep anymore. He tried to the first couple years he was captured, catching a few hours every couple days to try and get his energy up but now, now he didn’t even try. He had tried then, wanting to be free. Now he was just a shell of what he’d been before, stuck in time and stuck in hell.

One day, the guards didn’t come to drag him from his room and into the sun. Dean was left in his cement room, no concept of time, rotting away. He resigned himself to the fate that Alistair had grown tired of him, left him to die.

He was happy on one hand, to be free of his continuous torture. On the other hand he was pissed, angry, that he’d been abandoned, left to die a slow death. He repeated the names in his head long after his mouth stopped working and his throat was too dry.

He thinks he started to hallucinate at some point because he started hearing noises all around him, scrapings on the wall, and footsteps in the halls. Maybe the ghosts who’d lived in this room before him were coming to visit. Maybe they would put him out of his misery.

The door to his room opened, moonlight flooding in, burning Dean’s unused eyes. Alistair had come back, he thought. He was back and he wasn’t done.

The man who filled the doorway wasn’t one of Alistair’s men, not that Dean could remember. The man was still a vampire though. He was getting new men every day, replacing the ones who died or were killed by the big man himself. Blue eyes peered back at him, sharp and intense.

If Dean could talk, he would be asking a million questions right about now. But his words were behind his eyes, curiosity filling them, along with fear and relief. The man smelled of whiskey and fresh made leather. The stranger tilted his head, eyes focused on Dean.

“Can you move?” The voice was deep, full of gravel.

Unable to move even his head, Dean continued to stare at the man. His green eyes watched the blue of the man’s travel over his body, taking him in. Maybe he’d get the gist.

“It appears you can’t talk either.” The man kneeled. “Would you mind if I moved you? I don’t want to impose, but you’ll die down here.”

Dean rolled his eyes, closing them. This man was going to take him, maybe keep him prisoner too. He was resigned, broken, unable to voice his protest or fight against him.

The man picked Dean up easily, being nothing more than a skeleton covered in skin. “My name is Castiel.” The man introduced himself, making his way through the halls and through the front entrance. “I’m going to feed you, if that’s pleasing to you. It looks like you haven’t fed in a while so you’ll have to take in my blood first, to heal you and strengthen your body and blood.”

Dean was confused, scared. He was carried through the dark city, back street after back street before Castiel finally walks up to a large manor, windows aglow with candle light. The building was made of pale stone, large and grand. He was carried through the main entrance, passed a considerably large amount of servants and other vampires who seemed to live here.

The weak man was placed on a soft couch carefully, resting against the back, unable to move. He watched as Castiel ordered a servant to retrieve something, hearing abilities lacking due to blood loss. The young woman returned with a goblet and dagger on a silver tray, handing it to the vampire.

Castiel sat next to Dean, tray on his lap. “Alright, I’ll let some blood and I may have to force it down your throat. It may seem unpleasant, uncomfortable even.” He looked a bit weary. “My blood is strong. But with the amount of damage you’ve sustained, it may take several weeks before you are strong enough to move around on your own.” He cut his wrist, holding it over the glass, watching it fill. His wrist healed, blood slightly smears around the now invisible wound.

Dean’s mouth watered, his fangs distending. Pain shot through his mouth, fangs unused for some time. He could smell the blood, smell the power in it. He wanted it, if he could, he’d gulp it down in one swift swallow.

The other vampire set the dagger and tray aside, leaning closer to Dean. “I apologize in advance.” He pulled Dean’s stiff jaw open, avoiding his fangs. The blood was poured past his lips, over his dry tongue, and down his throat. Castiel had to run his hand down Dean’s throat, attempting to work the blood down his unused throat.

Warmth spread through Dean’s stomach, lighting his insides on fire. In over forty years, he’d never had something so delicious anywhere near him. The bouquet of scent and flavor releasing from the blood being poured down his throat was so majestic, so delicious. He closed his eyes, savoring what he could. He could feel his pupils explode, his cock would harden if his body had proper responses.

The goblet empty and set aside, Castiel wiped at a stray droplet of blood that made its way down Dean’s chin. Worry flickered behind his eyes. “I’m not sure who you are or how long you’ve been in that prison, but I received word that the monster who was holding you captive fled town, leaving his prisoner behind. It took me weeks to find out which residence you were being held in. I wasn’t aware he left until a month after he was already gone. I am so sorry.”

Dean worked his throat, swallowing the remainder of the blood and fresh flowing saliva. He could feel the blood work its way through his muscles and to him bones, his skin flushed and slowly starting to heal in front of his eyes. He couldn’t move yet, he probably wouldn’t be able to for some time.

“Dean.” His voice was harsh with ill use. “My name.” He answered the confused look on Castiel’s face. He wouldn’t force himself to talk much, not yet. His throat was still sore, his body stiff.

The other man, who appeared older than Dean himself, gave him a small smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Dean.” He stood, handing the goblet to a servant. “Would you like a bath?”

The thought of cleansing himself made Dean realize just how filthy he was. He nodded his stiff neck, slowly and with pain. Being picked up again, he was whisked up the stairs and down several winding hallways. Castiel led them into a grand room, candles lit and huge bed nestled in the center of the room.

“This will be your room.” Castiel placed Dean down on bench at the foot of the bed, making his way into a room leading from the bedroom. He came back, scissors in hand. “It’s yours until you no longer need it.”

Dean eyed the scissors. He’d had a week devoted to those, stabbing, cutting, and twisting. He shuddered, trying to lean away from the man.

Castiel lowered the scissors, frown forming on his face. “I wanted to make the removal of your clothes easier.” He looked at Dean, blue eyes intense. “I could tear the fabric from you?”

Dean nodded, eyes still trained on the scissors. He didn’t look back at Castiel until he placed the shears in a drawer. “Thank. You.” He ground out the words, body shaking. He could feel his limbs again, feel the pain sending shocks of electricity through his body.

The older vampire gave Dean a small smile, stepping forward. Taking Dean’s tattered clothes in his hands, he delicately tore then along the seams until Dean sat nude, shaking. “Did you want me to call one of the servant to bathe you?”

Dean shook his head, shaking at the thought of someone else touching him. “No. You.” He flexed his fingers, joints popping. “Trust. You.”

Castiel carried him to the tub, slipping Dean into the warm water. He washed Dean slowly, calculating. It seemed that he was mentally cataloguing the injuries that he could find on the surface of the younger man’s skin. If only he knew the amount of damage under his skin.

Once Dean was clean, the water tinged dark with the filth and dried blood, he was dressed in soft sleep clothes and placed in the plush bed. The fire in the fireplace was lit and warming the room.

The next several weeks lead in a similar manner. He would wake up, keep himself busy until Castiel came home by reciting the names of Alistair’s men. Once he was well enough, Dean started to write the names down on paper, over and over. Dean learned about Castiel, like how he was over six-hundred years old.

The older vampire would serve his blood to Dean, bathing him after. Even when Dean could start to make his way around, Castiel would still bathe the man. Neither seemed to bring the point up.

To be honest, Dean relished in the touch. The only touch that Dean had felt in the last forty years was in anger and rage. The feeling of Castiel’s hands on his body felt amazing, bringing Dean pure joy. His muscles grew every day, his frame filling out, and his body growing strong.

 His body started to heal, his scars remained, ugly and garish. No matter the power of the blood he was fed, even if a vampire’s bones are broken over and over, healing was almost impossible. The bones would heal crooked, pain remaining under the skin. Wounds that were open for years healed to an extent that the skin would close but still felt raw. He felt like he was rolled in a fire.

He grew closer to Castiel, every feeding becoming more looked forward to. He felt a connection to the mad. Unsure of where it was the fact that Castiel rescued him from hell or the fact that the man’s blood was running through his veins was the cause of his attraction.

Dean limped into the study, finding Castiel standing at the fireplace, reading a letter. He quietly sat on one of the couches, picking at his pants. The man stayed quiet, head bowed. He studied the older man’s back, admiring the width of his shoulders, the set of his stance, and the curves that led to his small waist.

“Is this all of them?” Castiel’s voice rumbled, interrupting Dean’s thoughts. He turned, letter falling into Dean’s lap. It wasn’t a letter. It was the list of Alistair’s men. The pages of the names that Dean’s forced himself to memorize. “Is this every one of those bastards that touched you?”

Dean’s eyes snapped to Castiel’s, surprised to see rage in his eyes. “I… Yes. The names I could remember.”

Castiel kneeled down at Dean’s feet, searching his eyes. “Dean, tell me. If I located these men, what would your next actions be?”

Dean closed his eyes, shuddering at the memories of his years of torture. “I would find them. I would find them and make them hurt the way that they hurt me.” Tears formed in his eyes, voice shaking. “I would fucking put them through hell.”

The older vampire moved fast, pulling a knife from his boot. He cut deep into his wrist, blood spilling from the cut. He climbed onto the couch, holding his wound close to Dean.

Drinking directly from the source was nothing Dean had done. His meals were either already dead from Alistair or fresh in a glass since he’s been here. He searched Castiel’s eyes before pulling his wrist to take a drink. His fangs distended, saliva flooding his mouth. The blood of pure, untainted by the glass or goblet he’s used before. Blood spilled down his chin, staining his clothes red.

“Take me inside you. Feel me there.” Castiel panted, eyes black. “Do you feel me racing through you, making you strong?”

Dean moaned, detaching his mouth from Castiel. He lunged forward, his mouth hot on the other man’s. He knew Castiel could taste the blood on his tongue, could taste the arousal filling Dean. His breeches were growing tight and uncomfortable, filling with his erection.

“Oh, Dean.” Castiel moaned. “The thought that I am inside of you brings me joy. The thought that I was the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition and made you what you are now makes me heart race.” He pulled back, caressing Dean’s cheek. “Look at you, riddles with scars but still so strong.”

He leaned into the touch, panting. “The power you hold, the feeling you give me when I drink your blood is addicting. Delicious.” Dean paused. “I want you inside of me in more ways than one, Castiel.”

Castiel picked Dean up similar to the way he did when he was weak and carried him swiftly to the lord’s room. He laid the younger vampire on the bed, kissing his way down his chest. “Your scent is so enticing, even for a vampire. I want to taste you.”

Dean moaned, exposing his neck to the older man. “Here, taste me here.”

Castiel moved up Dean’s body, licking his neck. “Are you certain?” He chuckled when Dean nodded fervently, his breath ghosting over the man. “I will happily oblige.” His fangs extend, finding their place in the young man’s neck. He pulled at the ambrosia pooling from Dean’s neck, swallowing thickly. The taste was so amazing, Castiel could have ejaculated right there.

The younger man moaned at the intrusion. A thought occurred to him that they were tied now, blood shared between the two. It wouldn’t matter how many human’s Castiel would drain, how many other beings he would donate his blood to heal, he belonged to Castiel, and Castiel belonged to him. They had a blood bond, a profound bond.

The older man pulled back, leaning over to retrieve a small silver pot of what looked like oil. Dean flinched away, reminded of the holy oil he was subjected to. Castiel usually picked up on his cues, not missing this one. “Dean, _ma puce_ , this is not to harm you.” He dipped his finger in the oil, smearing it on his own skin. “This is to ease my way into, to prevent your pain.”

Dean settled slightly, eyeing the pot. He leaned forward, sniffing. The scent of lavender and spice wafted up under his nose. Nothing like what the holy oil stunk of. He settled even further.

Castiel placed the oil on the stand, whipping his shirt over his head, revealing toned flesh, made dark by the sun when he was human. His flesh was slightly marked, scars from years of life and lists of enemies. Nothing like Dean’s. Dean reached up, softly stroking his thumb over one of the scars on Castiel’s chest.

Tears well in his eyes, expression hard. “Whoever did this? Are they still living?”

The older vampire’s brows knitted together. “What do you think?” He leaned forward, stripping Dean’s shirt as well, eyes never leaving the younger man’s face. “I did to them what I’ll do to the men who harmed you, _ma puce_.”

Dean raised his hands to pull at the ties and buttons of Castiel’s trousers. “I hope you made it long and painful, making them suffer.”

Castiel kissed down Dean’s chest, licking his tongue over his nipples, giving attention to both reddening buds. “I made them pay for their assault, returning to them what they delivered to me.” He flicked his fingers and tore Dean’s new breeches, tearing them at the seams, harsher than his first day here.

He was bare now, hard member exposed to the drafts of cool air flowing through the room. He whined when Castiel grabbed his prick and started lightly stroking. He’d never been given such attention, even before he was taken. Dean was fairly inexperienced, a few kisses and whispers shared in the night before he was taken, but never a hot hand on his penis, giving him pleasure.

The only touch he felt the last forty years were filled with hate, malice, and sadistic thoughts. Never anything like this. Though still weak, Dean felt stronger than he’s ever felt. He couldn’t kneel with the damage still slowly healing to his knees and shins but he could lay there and be loved, delivering back what love he could in touches, kisses, and bites.

When damp fingers touched his hole, Dean moaned, anticipating the intrusion. When a single finger breeched him, he felt the stretch he craved from the man above him. His breath was fast, his mouth and neck covered in blood. He was sure he made a sight being riddled with damage and so erect.

Castiel slowly added another finger, watching Dean. “Look at you, so gorgeous.” He scissored his fingers, stretching Dean. “You’re so tight, darling.”

Dean’s cheeks reddened and he looked away. Over sixty years old and still a virgin. Would Castiel still want him if he knew? When his lover’s fingers touched something potent inside of him, he lurched from the bed, backed bowed and a cry escaped his lips.

“So receptive to me. Am I the first to touch you?” Castiel groaned, watching his fingers stretch Dean. Like always, he picked up on Dean’s cues, noting his red cheeks and aversion to make eye contact. “I am the first to bring you this type of pleasure, it seems. That drives me wild, _ma puce_.”

“Yes, you’re the first.” Dean moaned, nodding his head. He tangled his hands in the sheets he could smell Castiel on with every movement. “The only.”

The fingers left Dean quickly only to be replaced with the hot head of Castiel’s cock. Both men groaned when the older man started to push in slowly, allowing Dean to adjust to his size. He thrusted slow and deep for a few moments, waiting for Dean to be ready.

The feeling of electricity sparked its way through Dean’s body, his cock jumping. “Go. Please, fuck me.”

Castiel obliged, grabbing and petting Dean where he could while increasing his thrusts, angling his hips to hit the right spot inside of Dean. The younger man writhed and whined beneath him. It was magnificent. He wanted to spill inside this boy, mark him with his seed.

Dean cried out, his groin burning and his cock dripping. He was close to release, close to spilling himself. “Castiel.” He panted, moaning into Castiel’s neck, licking at the dried blood and sweat. “I am close, _mon loup_.”

Castiel’s eyes darted to the younger man’s, full of compassion. He was Dean’s protector, his lover, his savior. He leaned forward, placing a kiss filled with love and passion, feeling Dean’s hole tighten and milk his cock. He swallowed the cry of his orgasm.

His orgasm was intense, better than anything Dean had pulled from his own body. It wracked his frame, he felt it in his bones, in his guts. He wanted to feel Castiel’s, he wanted to belong to Castiel.

A few more thrusts, Castiel spilled his seed into Dean, his ass still contracting and pulsing from his own release. “You are amazing, Dean.” He fell to the side, lips on Dean’s. “I hope that was adequate.”

Dean laughed, eyes sparkling. “Adequate? Damn, Castiel, that was the best thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to experience. I'm happy it was with you.” His smile was more sincere. 

Castiel smiled, pulling Dean into him, not caring for the mess. “I am too, darling. I am too.” He rested his chin on Dean’s head, mind slowly progressing from thought of the man tucked into his side to the revenge he would gift Dean, the gore and carnage he would commit just to see him at ease. He would do anything for the man he was falling in love with.


	2. I'm going to give you the choice I never had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel starts hunting down the men on Dean's list.   
> Dean hears word on his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for blood and gore.

It only took a week before Dean was limping down the hallway only to see Castiel come up the stairs covered in blood. When prompted, Castiel’s response was to cross one of the names from Dean’s list. They fucked against the hallway wall, celebrating the first of many names that were going to be crossed off the list.

He was a bit upset not to be part of the first kill but he knew that if he’d gone with his lover, he’d only slow him down. So every time that Castiel left the manor, he would ask Dean how he’d like a particular kill to be performed. Once, he even retrieved the scissors from his first day here only to press them into Castiel’s hand with a kiss.

He started to feed on humans, speeding up the healing that had stalled because his blood was so used to Castiel’s. Not that he’d stopped feeding from his lover, they’d share blood every time they fucked or made love. They both smelled of each other, others knowing to avoid trying to seduce the other’s partner.

Castiel was powerful, Dean learned. He ran a large portion of the city, made even bigger when Alistair fled. He was the den master, taking in vagabond vampires and visiting creatures, which explained the amount of guests that Castiel seemed to have at all times. Their home was never empty, filled with voiced and smells that Dean was more sensitive to everyday that he healed.

He could feel the raw of his flesh slowly flee and the knots of his broken bones became less sensitive. Soon, he was able to climb the stairs with little pain. His body almost looked like it had before he was taken and tortured while being draped in clothes. But underneath was still a mess, scars that wouldn’t leave his skin had still marred him and would remain there until the day he died.

His sleep was fitful, even after moving into Castiel’s chambers to free a room for visiting creatures. He’d wake his lover by thrashing or crying out only to be rocked back into sleep not long after, coerced into feeling safe once again in Castiel’s arms.

The closer Dean came to roaming the streets, the higher the anticipation ran in his blood. He craved to join Castiel in the hunt, craved being the one to end the life of one of his abusers. He was so close, limp almost gone and flesh all but healed. Castiel still worried, fear present behind his eyes. He knew that he was being looked after, he knew that Castiel was only looking out for the man he loved. But he was tired of sitting at home, waiting for word.

Alistair was still on the loose, neither Castiel nor his men were able to get a location on the monster. Not even from the men Castiel tortured, who all refused to give up information on their master but freely sold out their brethren. The list grew with every job done, retrieving more and more names from their victims.

When nearly thirty people were crossed off the list, Dean was finally permitted to join Castiel. He went to kiss Castiel luck on his trip only to have his hand grabbed and dragged through the door. He wasn’t aware of where they were headed or who they were after but he could feel his heartrate pick up and his breath deepen. They sped through the city, faster than anyone could see.

They came to a stop outside of what looked like an abandoned shack in the countryside, far from other houses. Dean raised his eyes, searching Castiel’s in the dark. The only answer he received was having a jug of oil passed his way. Dean sniffed it, gagging at the stench. Holy oil. Rage filled his eyes, stomping into the shack, Castiel following close behind.

What he found when entering the house stunned him. Uriel, one of Alistair’s most trusted men sat tied to a chair, face already bloody. He could feel Castiel’s eyes on him as he stepped closer to the other man.

A dark laugh fell from Uriel’s lips, blood falling from his mouth. “You.” His laugh deepened, pissing Dean off. “You’re the one this man is killing half of the vampires in town for? This weak child is the cause of all this mess?” He threw his head back, eyeing Dean. “You have done more than you can ever think. You’ve damned us all.”

A hiss sounded from the corner of the room, rage seeping from his lover’s pores. Dean sent a reassuring gaze toward Castiel, attempting to calm him down. When he turned back, he held Uriel’s eyes. “Your boss, where is he?”

Uriel snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes. “You think I will give his location to the likes of you? You’ve gone mad.”

Dean gave the dark man a small smile. “I’ll get it one way or another. Maybe not from you, maybe not today. But I will find him and I will destroy him.” He tipped the jug, letting the contents dribble slowly over the man’s skin, flesh sizzling and bubbling. He set the jug down, contents slushing around. He found a table full of instruments, all dirty and well used.

Uriel grunted, grinding his teeth. He must know what came next because he glared at Dean and the table of Dean’s toys. “You don’t have the courage to touch me, worm. When I get free, I’ll have Heaven and Hell rain fire down on you and yours.”

Dean tutted, picking up a rusted spike. “But you won’t be getting free, will you? You’ll be here with me, and mine, and you will suffer.” He turned to the man, sinking the spike into his thigh, hearing it crack clean through the bone. “My apologies, my hand slipped.”

Uriel shouted, writhing against his bonds. “You will pay!”

“You will pay.” Dean mocked, repeating the words in a singsong voice. He laughed, reaching for a blood stained rag, shoving it so deep into Uriel’s mouth, he even felt a few teeth chipping on his knuckles. He grabbed a dagger from his belt, stepping closer.

He ignored the grunts and thrashing from the dark man, climbing onto his lap, knocking against the spike in his prisoner’s leg. Blood spirted from the wound. Dean rolled his eyes, setting the blade against Uriel’s shirt, cutting it open along with his flesh. “There, now I have more room to work with.”

Castiel settled in toward the back of the room, eyes glowing and focused on his lover. He could smell the blood though it smelled vile and tainted. Nothing like Dean’s sweet nectar. He wanted to give Dean the freedom and revenge he craved, he would only step in if asked.

Dean spent half an hour just carving his way around Uriel’s chest and stomach, feeling the blood drip through his fingers and soak through his clothes. He still didn’t receive a location though he wasn’t surprised. He climbed down from his perch on the man, stretching his legs that were going stiff. He moved his attention to his fingers, grabbing an old pair shears.

He snipped, one finger at a time, watching each one fall to the ground. “For each time you laid your hands on me, I’m taking a finger. Lucky for you, you’ve only beat me eight times.” Blood trickled down and pooled on the ground, reflecting Dean in the candle light. Uriel’s gag fell from his lips, blood trailing along with it.

“If we knew you’d be like this, we would have killed you. We wouldn’t have left you to rot.” The man panted, spitting blood at Dean’s feet. “When Lucifer took your family, Alistair laughed. Lucifer fed your parents to us, one goblet of blood at a time. They suffered and we could taste it in their blood. It was so sweet.”

Fury rang through Dean’s ears. Another name from Alistair’s men to add to their list. Lucifer. He’d heard of Lucifer, the man who made Alistair himself. He was worse than Dean’s maker. He stripped the spike from Uriel’s leg and plunged it into his throat, rage bleeding through him. He watched as blood spirted and flowed from Uriel’s neck, listening to his heartbeat slow and stop.

Anger still coursing through him, Dean climbed back onto the man’s lap and pulled his head straight from his corpse, yelling and panting. He screamed, throwing the head across the room. Tears threatened to flow from his eyes, made of rage and sadness. His parents were dead. Doubt swept through him like ice water. He didn’t mention Sam. Where was Sam?

Castiel made his way to Dean, slowly pulling him from the corpse. He held his young lover, tears soaking his shoulder and blood soaking his clothes from Dean’s. He petted Dean, consoling him. “It’s alright, _ma puce_. He’s dead now. He won’t touch you ever again.”

Dean shook, hanging onto Castiel for dear life. When he stilled, he stepped back, wiping at his face and inadvertently smearing more blood in with the mess. “Lucifer. He gave us a name. He gave us Lucifer.”

A sad smile appeared on Castiel’s face. “He did, _ma puce_. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

Castiel bathed Dean that night, washing the blood from his marred flesh like the first weeks he got with the young man. He hurt seeing the desperation in his lover’s eyes. He wanted to make it right, make that sadness and pain go away. He was trying to help, one bastard at a time. Before they laid down to rest for the day, Castiel let Dean cross out Uriel’s name from the list.

 

Moonlight streamed through their window, illuminating Dean’s freckled skin. Castiel could watch his lover sleep for a decade if he was allowed. Dean’s features were smooth and young, unlike when he was awake. Though handsome, Dean’s features carried a lifetime of pain and sadness. Castiel loved him either way.

He sat beside the younger vampire, eyes trained on his body. He seemed to sleep easier after his kill, somehow reassured in sleep that one less man would come to harm him. The older man wished Dean could feel safe with him all the time but he knew that to be impossible until Alistair himself was illiminated.

When the younger man stirred toward the surface of wakefulness, Castiel caressed him to welcome him back to the world of the living. So to speak. He watched as Dean’s eyelids fluttered open, eyes swinging around and taking in his surroundings like he was expecting to wake up back in his prison. It saddened him to see. Dean’s features settled into what he donned on a normal day.

“Good evening.” Dean stretched and his joints popped. “What are you doing home, darling? I thought you had a meeting?”

Castiel smiled, dragging his hand through Dean’s sleep mussed hair. _God, he was beautiful._ “The meeting was moved to later this week. Something about a rogue werewolf or something. Nothing to worry about.”

Dean smiled a sleepy smile, leaning into Castiel. “Alright. I love you.”

“I love you too, _ma puce._ ” Castiel’s heart hurt, seeing such a loving caring man be treated in such a way. He wanted to be everything for him, give him what he needed. “What did you say your brother’s name was?”

“Sam.” Dean frowned, ghosts of a memory flashing behind his sad eyes. “Sammy. He was a few years younger than me. My best friend. Why?”

“No reason.” Castiel smiled, leaning down and giving Dean a lingering kiss. “Now let us get up and get you some breakfast, shall we?”

 

Dean didn’t like the taste of the people Castiel tended to find him to feed on but then again none of them tasted like the man himself. The taste and scent of his lover were so enticing that sometimes he’d even have to mix the older vampire’s blood with his victims to even be able to stomach it. He wasn’t ashamed to be so needy, so delicate.

Some nights lead almost the same way as the one he’s spent with Uriel. Castiel’s men would find and track down Dean’s abusers, they would capture them, and deposit them in the shack. Castiel usually let Dean have his way with the torture but when he got too worked up, the older man would have to step in.

When they’d captured a particularly feral vampire by the name of Lilith, Castiel had made Dean leave the shack entirely. She had used her words to work him into a frenzy, unable to even pick up a weapon with the amount of yelling back he was doing. Their list stopped growing, all names being given up already crossed off.

The amount of time it took them to dwindle their list to a third the original size, nearly two years had passed since Castiel vowed to himself that he’d kill all of Dean’s abusers. Not only were they spreading out, they were becoming scarce. Now instead of one kill a week it was becoming one a month if they were lucky.

Dean had made friends with one of the local witch coven members, Celeste, though she preferred to be called Charlie for some reason. Castiel housed her from time to time, her home bouncing around since her parents had passed away. He confided in her and trusted her. Something Castiel was proud to see.

Castiel had slunk into the room Dean was quietly reading in and slipped behind Dean’s chair, hands on his shoulders. He peaked over to see his lover reading up on a vampire lore book. “Darling, I have something I want to show you.”

Dean had followed Castiel without question. They sped through the dark streets, as quiet as whisper. When they had stopped, Castiel took his lover’s hands and kissed them. “We’re close to our destination. I want to prepare you for what you’re about to see.”

Dean’s brow furrowed but he nodded, trusting his lover of nearly three years. He’d trust this man with his life and more, he already had. He was led down a back street that opened into a residential neighborhood. Small houses dotted the lane in a pretty sort of way.

Castiel stopped them in front of a house, facing them across the street. Dean stood there, not exactly sure what he was supposed to see until he saw a familiar face. A face he hadn’t seen in forty years. A face that was just nineteen when he was taken. A face that hadn’t aged what it was supposed to.

“Sam?” His voice broke. Sam was supposed to be sixty, not thirty. No, this was all wrong. No. No, no, no. He was supposed to be free, happy. Sam was supposed to have a family. “What… why?”

Castiel laid a hand on Dean’s lower back, caressing him. “When you were taken, Alistair had eyes on your family. When his maker took notice, he sought out the family himself.” He looked uncomfortable.

Dean’s eyes hardened, anger seeping from him. “His maker? You mean Lucifer?”

“Yes, darling.” Castiel relinquished a small nod. “He took your brother.”

Dean could feel the anger and disgust rip and roar through his body. His fangs extended as if facing a threat and his eyes darkened. That monster and his son were going to die. By his own hand if he could help it. “Can I see him?”

Castiel nodded, holding Dean back when he went to charge across the street in all his vampire glory. “Wait, Dean. You need to calm yourself. You don’t want to scare Samuel, do you?”

“No.” He admitted, his shoulders dropping. Dean took a deep breath, focusing on his heartbeat. Slowly, his fangs retracted and his eyes returned back to normal. He blinked and looked up to his lover. “I believe I’m alright.”

Again Castiel nodded, taking Dean’s hand. He led the younger man across the street and up the stairs of the front porch. They stood for a minute, Dean collecting his thoughts.  He wasn’t sure what he’d be getting himself into. He wasn’t sure if his brother would even remember him. Dean raised his hand and hesitated before he knocked on the door. Each knock sounded like a bang, copying his heartbeat.

When the door creaked open, Dean’s breath caught. His brother looked so young. The face he hadn’t seen in forty years was standing here in front of him, looking nearly the same. “Sammy.” His voice left him rough and in a breath.

Sam looked confused for a moment, eyes glancing from Castiel to Dean. Realization dawned on his face, relief and sadness covering his expression. Without a word, he pulled Dean to himself. He hugged his brother tightly, not wanting to let go.

Dean ignored the creak in his bones at the crushing hug and hugged back just as fierce. He had his brother back, here in his arms. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. “Oh god, Sam.” He reluctantly stepped back, keeping hands on his brother’s arms. “You look good. You look tall. You look… young.” He knew he sounded rather ignorant.

Sam chuckled, looking over Dean’s body. “You look almost the same.”

A small smile splayed on Dean’s lips. He knew he would explain what happened to Sam but he was sure he was dealing with his own troubles. “Yeah, I suppose I do. I was turned the night I was taken. He wanted me… ready for him.” Dean cringed.

Sam frowned, concerned. “He?” He took his eyes from his brother to stare almost angrily at Castiel. “Him? Do you take my brother from us?” He went to step toward the older man only to be stopped by a hand from Dean.

“No, Sammy. He saved my life.” Dean threw a small smile toward his lover. “Sam, this is Castiel. Castiel, this is my little brother, Sam.” Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s use of little brother.

Castiel stepped forward, stretching a hand out toward Dean’s brother.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samuel.”

Sam took Castiel’s hand and shook, trepidation still on his face. “So, you saved my brother’s life.” He stood and stared down the man. When Castiel only nodded, Sam nodded back. He stepped back, inviting the men into his home.

Dean listened to Sam talk about his life since he’d gone missing with the awe of a child hearing a fantasy story. Sam had been watched for roughly ten years before Lucifer stepped in, taking him and killing their parents.

He wasn’t beaten and tortured like Dean but he was restricted in a stranger’s home after he was turned. He’d been let loose when Lucifer grew tired of him.  He sat and shared a glass of something dark, knee resting against Castiel’s the entire time. They didn’t talk about John and Mary, not yet. They would talk about it soon.

Sam didn’t ask where Dean had been, gathering it was rather unpleasant. But he did fill his brother in on his life and things he’d learned. He noticed tears forming in Dean’s eyes a few times throughout their night but didn’t mention it.

On their walk home, Dean smiled and sang a low tune that Castiel had gathered was sung to them by their mother in childhood. His voice was a pleasant one to listen to, soft and even. Castiel caught himself smiling with Dean, his happiness rare but contagious.

Walking through the door, Dean pulled Castiel all the way to their room, slamming the door shut. Without preamble, he stripped his clothes. When he stripped Castiel’s clothing as well, he climbed onto the bed, retrieving the pot from their nightstand. “Please.” He whispered.

Castiel crawled onto the bed, dragging Dean into a deep hot kiss. He felt the younger man shiver and groan below him, their cocks growing hard against each other. Keeping his mouth busy with Dean, he dipped his fingers in the oil, slipping his fingers over Dean’s hole, massaging. When his fingers breached Dean’s hole, his fangs distended and breached his flesh.

Dean cried out, feeling double euphoria at the double intrusion. He writhed on Castiel’s finger, trying to get him deeper and add more. Blood dripped down his neck onto the bed that now smelled like the both of them. Dean’s hard prick dribbled with anticipation, straining to spill his seed.

With three fingers in his lover, spreading him open, Castiel groaned at the sight. His fingers were being hugged and pulled in by Dean’s heat. He removed his fingers and coated his cock in the oil. He held Dean’s legs up, slipping into his lover. He licked at the blood that was drying on the young man’s neck, allowing Dean to accommodate his girth.

Dean felt stretched, open and vulnerable with Castiel inside of him but he loved it. Castiel was one of the very few people that he trusted and he relished that the man trusted him too. “So big inside of me, _mon loup_. You feel so good.” Dean moaned when Castiel started to thrust, inching him up the bed. His groin burned and his muscled grew tighter with every thrust he received from the man above him.

Castiel fucked into the man, relishing the heat surrounding him. He’d never felt better than when he was with Dean, inside of him. When fangs sank into his wrist, Castiel cried out, almost spilling his release before Dean. “Naughty.” Castiel tutted, thrusting harder into Dean.

Dean was so close to finishing, so close to spilling over. When Castiel changed angle, his insides were lit on fire, pleasure flooding his body. It only took a few more thrusts before the coil snapped inside of him, his body going rigid. He spilled in between them, smearing their stomachs.

Castiel moaned into the contractions of Dean’s hole, milking him. He fucked harder, chasing his own release. When he spilled into Dean, he bit into the man’s shoulder, filling himself with the younger man’s delicious blood once more. Castiel kissed Dean, pulling out as he started to soften.

When Castiel pulled Dean into his chest, Dean smiled. “Thank you, Castiel.” When he heard a small “Hm?” he turned over, face to face with the man. “Thank you. For everything. Though I know our hunt isn’t over, you’ve helped me get closer to my target. And you’ve helped me reunite with my brother.”

Castiel smiled, pulling Dean in for a kiss, slow and soft this time. “I would do anything for you, Dean. I wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing what I need you to do, Castiel, more than I could ask for. You’ve helped me heal. You’ve helped me trust.” Dean leaned his head down on his lover’s chest, listening to the heartbeat that he now lived for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments guys. <3


	3. All A Vampire Has Is Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel tells Dean about his family.   
> Dean bides his time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Death

Finding the men who’d harmed Dean was crawling to a stop, only rumors in the wind at this point. Dean seemed to be alright with the fact but Castiel could still see the anticipation laying under the skin. He knew he should talk to his lover but he loved seeing Dean spend his time with his brother and Charlie, worrying less and looking over his shoulder all but stopped.

Sam didn’t discuss Lucifer and Dean never brought the monster of Alistair up in conversation. When Castiel’s men would hear word or rumor of finding one on their list, Castiel would no longer mention it because more often than not, the rumor would be nothing more than that, a rumor. He hated seeing the disappointment in Dean’s eyes.

By 1900, only a handful of people remained on the list. Lucifer, Megara, a man named Zachariah, and Alistair himself. He’s certainly recruited and gained followers since all of his men are now rotting in a ditch but they’d get through them too. Two businessmen, Cain and Crowley, ended up being a bust. They were double agents working in favor of the Queen.

Dean had made one and only child since he’d been turned, fear of them rejecting their maker. A young boy by the name of Benjamin. Benjamin and his mother had been ill with tuberculosis, Lisa passing away in her sleep. Ben was close to death, so Dean changed him, giving him a life he deserved, but forever stuck as a child.

The guilt built up in Castiel to the point he wanted to bust. Not only had he failed Dean in finding Alistair in a quick manner, but he’d withheld important information from him as well. One day he had enough, interrupting his lunch with Charlie to speak to him.

“Dean, could I talk to you?” I popped his head into the parlor, smiling at Charlie.

Confusion masked Dean’s face but he still got up. “Yeah, Cas. What’s up?”

He beckoned Dean to follow him and lead him into his office. Worry flooded Castiel’s eyes, concerning the young man. Castiel settled in one of the chairs in front of his desk, gesturing for Dean to join him. Once the younger vampire took a seat, Castiel clasped his hands together.

“I would like to talk to you, _ma puce_. And I want you to know that if you’re angry by the end of this discussion, I understand.” Castiel closed his eyes and took a breath. “I’ve never mentioned my family or my maker before. My sire’s name is Charles and he is very old. He’s been off the grid for some time.”

Dean opened his mouth to ask why Castiel was bringing all this up now but was silenced by the melancholy look in his lover’s eyes.

“When Charles changed me, he had other children. Children much older and stronger than I. Some of the children were understanding of humankind like I was. They were food and essential to the way the world turns. But some of my siblings were not.” Castiel averted his eyes, looking somewhere over Dean’s shoulder. “The most angry and merciless one of us was Lucifer.”

Breath left Dean, his lungs seizing up. He was at a loss, confused and sad. “You’ve never mentioned your family to me before.” Was his only point.

Tears formed in Castiel’s eyes, threatening to spill over. “I… No. I never did. I can’t find my father nor do I speak to many of my siblings anymore.” He steeled himself for rejection from the man he loved, the man he lied to for years to leave him and he deserved all of it.

“Do you…. Do you talk to Lucifer anymore?” Dean’s voice was small.

“No. I was never particularly close to my siblings, let alone him. He was already reigning hell by the time I was made. I tried to avoid him the best to my abilities. Sometimes he would just show up unannounced, skulking and leering at all those who dare look at him.” Castiel took a breath, eyeing Dean’s emotionless face. “He killed my first child, Jack. Claimed he was his son and killed him for serving me. He’s delusional. Completely mad. I had to hide my daughter, Claire, to keep her safe.”

Dean took Castiel’s hand, holding it tight but staying silent.

“I think he took our father.” Castiel sniffled. “I think he has him somewhere or has chased him off. Lucifer was displeased with the asylum Charles was granting to all creatures, even humans. He thought them weak, disgusting. He thought that vampires were superior in every way.”

“He hurt you.” The younger man pointed out.

Castiel’s brow knitted together in confusion. “Well, yes. But I’ve kept this information from you. I lied to you.”

Dean’s fingers squeezed tighter. “You didn’t lie to me.” Castiel started to protest but Dean held up his hand to shush him.

“No. You didn’t lie to me. You just didn’t tell me. And the fact that your lover was held captive by your… nephew. Well, it’s all just a coincidence.” He took a breath, steadying himself. “The reason we’re here today is because I love you. And I’m going to kill that man myself. For hurting you, hurting me, and hurting Sam. We will bide our time, wait them out. Make them think we gave up. Then we strike when they feel safe.”

 

Dean’s heart hurt, seeing his closest friend age before his eyes while he stayed his same youthful self. Her red hair turned grey and her flawless skin wrinkled. He’d offered to turn her but she politely declined, wanting to live the witchiest life.

When Charlie passed away, it was quiet. She was holding Dean’s hand, said she was tired, and slipped her eyes shut. Dean heard her heart stop beating, felt her flesh grow cold. He held her hand well into the day, burning from the sun streaming through the open windows. Castiel found him the following night, still clutching his friend’s hand.

Dean mourned for her, quiet and dark, lurking around the manor. Castiel wasn’t sure how to help, knowing that Dean had to work out his sadness, mourn all he could. He wouldn’t push his young lover, not on this.

When he received word of where Zachariah was located, he wanted it to a present to Dean. Hopefully to cheer him up. So Castiel packed up the car, threw Dean into the passenger seat, and took off for Germany. Of course the man was running a concentration camp. He prayed and fed from the tortured souls in the camp, experimenting on them one at a time.

When they traveled through the dark streets of war filled Germany, Dean’s face was stone. Of course his lover had power here in Germany too. Castiel was one of the most powerful vampires Dean knew. He had ties all over the globe and his ties were growing the easier communication became. First with telegrams and then the telephone.

Dean sat at the restaurant, poking at his rare lamb, slightly confused. Yes, they were in Germany. And yes, Castiel said he had a surprise for him but they’d been here almost a week and all they’ve done was go to fancy restaurants and meet some of Castiel’s business associates.

A foot nudged his under the table, catching his attention.

“ _Ma puce,_ your surprise is sitting right across the room. There, in the grey suit.” Castiel whispered, keeping his voice so only Dean’s vampire hearing could pick it up.

Dean casually let his glance drift across the room, looking for the man. Zachariah. This was a surprise indeed. He kept the man in corner of vision at all times, not wanting to lose him. When he got up, Castiel stayed Dean with a hand, slightly motioning toward his men following him. They stayed until the dinner was over, Dean a ball of nerves.

They drove for a while, out of the city and into the hills. Dean watched with bated breath as the houses and buildings became trees in his view. It’s been so long since he’s laid hand on one of those bastards and his fingers were itching.

When they pulled up outside of a small isolated house, Dean sat for a moment, holding hands with Castiel. He wanted to collect himself before he walked his ass into that house. When Castiel opened his car door, Dean was shaky on his feet getting out. He’d never been nervous before.

The door creaked open, Castiel’s men were perched around the room, surrounding Zachariah. He was tied to the chair but he wasn’t roughed up like the rest of their victims.

Zachariah rolled his eyes, no fear on his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The rumors were true. All of this because of some child?” He rolled his eyes again, looked expectantly at Castiel. “Are you going to let me go, Castiel? I’m sure Lucifer would appreciate loyalty from you even after all these years.”

Castiel looked at Zachariah like he’d grown a horn from his forehead. “Loyalty? For a monster? I don’t think so, Zach. My loyalty lies with my den, my father, and Dean.”

Zachariah frowned sarcastically. “What a pity. I hope to be there when Lucifer rips you limb from limb.” He laughed darkly. “Dean, good to see you. Long time, no see.”

“Fuck you.” Dean shouted harshly.

Zachariah laughed again. “I tried. Alistair said he was saving that for when he finally killed you though. Wanted to take you himself.”

Dean grabbed the knife from his boot, stabbing it into the other man’s chest, just missing the heart. He twisted the blade before removing it and repeated the gesture. He repeated himself until Zachariah’s chest and abdomen were filled with holes, bile and guts spilling from him. His eyes rolled back into his head. When Dean slapped him, he came back to consciousness.

“Is that all you got?” Zachariah mumbled through the blood in his mouth. “I remember doing almost the same thing to you. Oh, Alistair let me have such fun with you.”

“I know, asshole.” Dean pointed out, throwing the knife on the ground. He turned and picked up a fire poker, ignoring the look Castiel’s men sent to the man himself. He cocked the poker back and sung with all his strength, hitting Zachariah in the leg. He heard the sickening crunch of bones breaking and flesh splitting open from the impact, soaking the man’s pants.

Zachariah screamed and ground his teeth. He grunted, pain etched into his features.

Dean swung again, hitting the other leg, causing just as much damage. “Now look who’s having such fun.” Dean grunted, hitting the man in the arms, the torso, and again in his legs. He broke the man just like he’d been broken, flesh split open and bones broken aplenty. “Tell me where Alistair is, Megara. Give me their location.”

The laugh that escaped Zachariah’s mouth was more of a moan and gurgle, bubbling through the blood. “You’ll never find Alistair. As for Megara, she’s hiding right under your noses. She never left the city, never left home.”

“Why are you so loyal to him?” Dean asked, getting up close to Zachariah, noses almost touching. “Why are you all protecting him?”

“Because he protected us, gave us sanctuary when none others would. He gave us jobs, gave us life.” He laughed again, choking on his blood. “We’re all his children. You killed all of his children. Do you know what that does to a man?”

Dean’s eyes darkened, angers seeping from his. “Do you know what torturing someone for forty years will do to a man?” Dean’s voice was low, dangerous. “It can break him or it can make him.”

Not waiting for a response, he reached up, tightened his hands around Zachariah’s head, and pulled. When the man’s head came clean off, blood coated his face and clothes, spraying around the room.

Castiel took the worn paper from his pocket, handing Dean a fountain pen.

With blood smeared hands, Dean crossed the man’s name from the list. They left for home.

 

Dean didn’t wait for Castiel to open him up before he lowed himself onto his lover’s cock. He hissed at the burn and the stretch, settling on his mate’s hips. He started moving, riding slowly. Tears formed in his eyes, he rested his forehead against Castiel’s

Castiel petted Dean wherever he could, loving the man. He let Dean take what he needed. “I love you, _ma puce_.” He murmured, kissing Dean slowly. Moving his lips to Dean’s wrist he bit and pulled some blood from the man, not much but enough to satiate his thirst for Dean.

He could feel the pleasure flooding him, chasing away the rage, the sadness. He wanted to overflow with it, let it soak him and swallow him up. “I love you too, _mon loup_.” He sped his pace, bracing his hands against his lover’s chest. “I love you so much. You’ve given me so much. Given me more than I could have asked for.” He moaned when he changed angle, his prostate being brushed with every pass, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Take what you need from me, what you crave. Take all I have to give you.” Castiel panted, licking over Dean’s neck. “You could take my life and I would be happy as long as it makes you happy.”

Dean’s fangs fell into place, saliva filling his mouth. He was close to orgasming, close to spilling over and being pulled under at the same time. All he felt was pleasure and Castiel, Cas, Cas, Cas. He wasn’t sure if he was chanting his name out loud or just in his head, he was too engrossed in the feeling of love coursing through him. Dean bit into Castiel’s neck, drawing in his blood, drawing in his life essence.

His body went tight, spilling his release over Castiel’s stomach. He could feel the older vampire chase his own orgasm and spilling into his hole. He moaned at the feeling of being filled with Castiel at both ends. He was so overwhelmed, so raw. When he released his fangs, lips met his, soft and hot. He didn’t dream of Charlie that night.

 

 

The search for Megara didn’t last long. She was working for the witches and never actually put hands on Dean. She was just a name given by one of the men he’d killed. Probably a lose end they wanted to tie up for Alistair. He was her maker, but she wasn’t loyal to him. All that was left was Lucifer and Alistair.

Sam visited often, they tended to share a glass of something dark, usually blood but sometimes wine. Dean learned more and more of his brother as time passed, becoming as close as siblings could be. They would hopefully have each other for a very long time.

When Led Zeppelin released their first album, Dean had taken to them. He memorized every word. Castiel was more of a Beatles fan but he enjoyed what Dean did, letting him control the radio whenever they rode in his prized Impala found new on a car lot in Kansas.  Dean cherished the car, keeping her like new.

Castiel preferred motorbikes. They were fast and they could easily slip past obstacles that cars could not. When he took Dean for drives, they’d fly way above the speed limit, enjoying each other’s body heat. Dean would hold on tight, nose buried in his lover’s neck, inhaling his scent.

Dean tried to spend time with Ben, teaching him what Castiel had taught Dean himself. He taught him about the current culture and the way of life. He felt bad, locking this child into the age he was but it was that or death.

Sam took a liking to Ben, teaching him all his book mumbo jumbo. He was acting like a real uncle, taking the child under his wing and pulling pranks on Dean. They were mostly harmless, no long lasting implications. Things took a turn when Ben left a thimble full of holy oil on Dean’s bedside table, making him wake up gagging and shaking.

Without the adrenaline of a kill coursing through his blood, he was pulled back into the memories of Alistair’s and the torture he’d endured. Dean regressed for a few days, locking himself in his room and only allowing Castiel in.

When he emerged from his room, he consoled Ben, knowing the boy didn’t mean anything. He took him for ice cream and a hunt.

 

 

When _The Breakfast Club_ and _The Goonies_ rolled around, Dean was antsy, crawling out of his skin. He was biding his time, sure, but he wanted to finally put Alistair out of this world for good.

He’d spend his time shining Baby or hunting with Castiel. Ben had moved on to a human couple, Bobby and Ellen. They seemed like grumps but they were nice people. They cared for Ben like he was their own flesh and blood, not vampire. They’d met when they were seeking asylum from the vampires in their city.

 

Dean was woken up by a commotion downstairs, pulling him from a fitful sleep. Castiel wasn’t in bed, the sheets cold. Fear gripped Dean’s chest, making his stomach a boulder. Countless horrible situations flitted across his mind. Was his mate hurt? Had Castiel hurt someone else?

He rushed down the stairs, following the noise. What he found was not what he’d expected. A breaded man stood in the entryway, wrapped in Castiel’s arms. Dean came to a stop, watching the pair.

When Castiel stepped back, his eyes were shining. “Dean, this is Charles.” His voice was rough.

Dean’s eyes widened, staring at his lover’s maker. Charles, older than Jesus himself, stood with a briefcase in one hand and an awkward smile on his face.

“I believe you are Dean, yes?” He stepped forward, empty hand outstretched. “Please, call me Chuck.”

Dean nodded, shaking the man’s hand. He smelled of leather like Castiel but the hint of old paper was strongest in his scent.

“I came here for a reason, Castiel.” Worry masked his face. “I’ve found Lucifer. And Alistair.”

Both Castiel and Dean stared at Chuck with wide eyes. The news they’ve wanted, the news thy never thought they’d receive. The location of the last on their list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments guys. <3


	4. Boo Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean finally head out to get their revenge. How will it end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! It's finally done!

They had to wait to attack, knowing that Chuck had returned and Castiel had to round up his allies. Most of his den and creatures he gave asylum to pledged themselves to protect Castiel and his mate. Some of his den decided not to become part of the war but promised to be prepared to receive the injured.

Months passed before word came back from everyone Castiel had invited into battle with Lucifer and Alistair. The numbers looked good, better than they’d expected. Apparently these men didn’t only offer jobs and life. They offered pain, torture, and rage. Gabriel, one of the only siblings Castiel kept in contact with, offered his help and some of his men, which he was grateful for.

Dean tried to busy himself with something or other waiting to charge. He attended protests, volunteered to those in need, and even took up a job or two. He tried to do good for all the bad he’d done and was about to do. He tried to give Castiel time with Chuck, letting the catch up on the lost time between father and son. Dean and Sam were invited along to some of their hunts, feeding with his family.

The location of the pair was at a previously abandoned castle on top of a hill, giving them advantage over those attacking. When Alistair had fled the city, he was being chased out by Castiel. Castiel had threatened the man by taking his land and property after he took his life. Apparently Alistair’s men had been hunting and slaughtering the creatures Castiel offered asylum to.

Dean’s nightmares started to slowly leak back into his nights, leaving his exhausted and on guard. Whenever anyone would walk by him, he’d assess them as a threat. He could see the worry wearing on his lover, not only dealing with the gathering of creatures and welfare of them during and after the fight, but he worried about Dean.

Castiel was terrified that once the men were dead that Dean would no longer need him. No longer need his protection or his men. That’s the one reason he never rushed finishing the list, the fear of Dean leaving. If Dean left, he was sure to shut himself in, become a recluse.

He busied himself with communications with their allies, keeping in touch with everyone who would join them. He mapped out the area, relaying information back and forth. Where he’d want them positioned, when to attack, and what they’re jobs would be. This fight was about to be very bloody and very fast so he wanted it to be perfect.

Dean would lay in Castiel’s arms every day, waiting for the sun to set so he could spend time with his brother and lover. He might not be coming back from this and he wanted to squeeze as much time with them as he could in until they had to fight.

A human by the name of Ash helped them design vampire weapons like holy oil grenades and, after the invention of LED, portable LED lamps. These weapons wouldn’t kill a vampire but it would slow them down, burning them.

 

Castiel was quiet, sitting at his desk and looking out into the night from his chair. He was lost in thought, contemplating and think about tomorrow. Tomorrow, they would head out and some of them wouldn’t come back. If Dean died…. He shook his head, lodging the thought out. No, Dean would come home with him and they would be together. Unless they wouldn’t.

A hand slipping over his chest from behind eased him from his thoughts. Dean stood behind him, worry covering his own face. “You’re thinking too much, Cas.”

Castiel sighed, leaning his head back against the chair. “I know. I’m sorry, _ma puce._ I just can’t help it.”

Dean smiled, turning Castiel’s chair to face him. “I can think of a way or two to keep your mind busy.” He unbuttoned his pants and stripped his t-shirt from his chest. When Castiel pulled his pants free, he was bare beneath.

The breath caught in Castiel’s throat when Dean leaned over and undid his pants, slipping them down just enough to free his cock. “You are beautiful as ever. I could stare at you all night.” His hand lightly trailed up Dean’s thigh and up to his stomach.

A soft laugh left Dean’s lips as he climbed onto Castiel’s lap, rubbing their cocks together. They both moaned. “How about you do something else all night tonight and you can stare when we get back, hm?” Dean rutted harder into Castiel’s front, dick dribbling.

“Your wish is my command.” He winked at Dean, reaching behind, petting at Dean’s ass.

Dean shook his head, bringing his lover’s hands back to the front of them. “I’m already open for you, baby. I just need you.” He reached down, slipping Castiel easily into his hole, moaning at the sensation of being filled.

Sex in the office chair was a bit awkward but it helped when Castiel wrapped his hands around Dean’s ass cheeks and lifted him almost all the way off his cock only to let him fall back down. He loved when Castiel took control from the bottom, letting him enjoy the positives to the position but relax into it.

Dean leaned back, holding onto Castiel’s arms, letting the cock inside of him hit all the right places. He gasped and moaned, feeling full and hot. Every thrust brought him closer to the edge.

Castiel’s mouth was slightly hanging open, breath fast and heavy. His eyes roamed over Dean, glued to the place they were joined. “The sight of you taking me makes me want to fuck you for hours.” Castiel moaned, tweaking Dean’s nipple.

Shuddering, Dean brought his lover’s wrist up to his mouth, sinking his fangs into the flesh. The blood was perfection, the taste familiar. It dripped down his chin and onto his chest. When Castiel leaned forward and licked up the mess, Dean’s teeth detached themselves, eyes on the man. He relished this, the feeling of being loved, of being filled and taken care of.

The older man sped up the pace, hitting deeper into his young lover, making Dean cry out. He licked into Dean’s bloody mouth, loving the taste of himself on the man. He trailed kisses and licks down his lover’s throat, fangs dropping. When he sank his teeth in, Dean shouted and spilled between the two of them. Castiel close behind, filling Dean.

The laid for a few moments, catching their breath. Dean laughed breathily, standing on wobbly legs, knees sore even after all these years. “I remember we discussed you fucking me for hours. Can’t break your word, can you?” Dean smirked, seeing Castiel’s eyes darken.

Castiel pounced, keeping his promise.

 

The next night was tense, gathering supplies and organizing people who’d showed up to fight. They wanted to arrive on foot and approach quietly through the woods. Castiel’s face was grim, set in lines of stress and worry. Dean stopped him to kiss a smile onto his face before they stepped out the door.

They drove their cars as close as they dared, hiding them with brush. Being fair to the witches, werewolves, and humans in their ranks, they stayed the same pace, not racing ahead. Dean felt his muscles bunch and contract, wanting to run ahead and fight them on his own.

The group dressed in dark clothes, trying to blend into the night. The closer they got, the higher the tension in the air, it was palpable. The weres started shifting, hackles raised and low growls escaping their muzzles. The group spread out, each person stationed at the edge of the clearing, still hidden in the shadows.

Castiel had set up a plan, Dean and he would stick back until other weres and vampires scouted the area, letting them know what they were facing. He felt a bit guilty but Gabriel had made a good point that if Castiel died, his entire den would be left in the hands of someone worse than Castiel was. So he hung back with the man he loved, watching the people who trusted him make their way silently up toward the crumbling castle.

Dean listened intently to the approaching group that he barely noticed Castiel taking his hand. He turned his head toward his lover, nervous.

“You are so amazing, Dean. I’m glad to be able to help you do this.” Castiel lifted their clasped hands and kissed Dean’s smooth skin. “I love you so much.” Sadness flickered behind his eyes for a moment, only to flee when Castiel’s mask slipped into place. His whiskey and leather scent going dark.

Dean’s heart warmed. “I love you too, Castiel. If I could, I wouldn’t change anything. No matter how painful, it led me to you.” He pulled the older vampire’s face toward his, kissing him silently. “It’s you and me, _mon loup_ , for as long as you’ll have me.” Dean studied his lover’s face, memorizing again the face he already knew by heart. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the smooth lips, and the electric blue eyes.

Commotion from up the hill drew their attention away from one another, making the men alert again. One of the weres had taken down two guards posted at the main entrance, dragging them into some nearby bushes. The witches were casting disguising spells and warding spells. Inside the courtyard were five men, easily taken down by their men.

When the courtyard was cleared, Dean and Castiel made their way toward the house, taking position in the shadows, waiting for their army to breech the door. Dean closed his eyes and sent a prayed to a god he no longer was sure existed, hoping to make it out of here alive with Castiel and their den. This was way too easy.

Most holy oil grenades and LED lamps were held by the weres and witches, reducing the chance their vampires would be injured by their own weapons. Each one had a grenade just in case they were cornered and needed to find a distraction. Dean was given a handful of the bombs himself because he knew how to handle exposure to the vile substance. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use the stuff.

Adrenaline was wafting through the air, smelling like electricity and sweat. A young vampire who used to be a pickpocket picked the lock swiftly and quietly, only a slight click being heard. A portion of the group slipped into the front door, quiet was night. Another part of the group slunk to the back of the house, the pickpocket going with them.

Dean heard guards bodies start to drop, silent and cushioned by magic, fur, or vampire arms. One by one, the guard’s bodies were dragged out the front door, hidden in the bushes and in a shed. Dean was slightly confused until Castiel quietly explained that it would benefit for the hand to hand that was sure to happen, allowing them not to trip over the bodies. Dean was impressed how thought out this all was.

When at least twenty bodies were hidden outside, Dean and Castiel slipped through the door. The top floor was clean and abandoned, no guards posted up there. Making their way back down, Castiel headed to the basement level of the castle, Dean stood frozen.

Castiel turned back, question in his eyes. “Dean?” He held his hand out.

Dean eyed the door to the basement, knowing damn well they were walking into some sort of trap. Basements meant traps and pain. If he didn’t go down those stairs with Castiel, he would live with regret until the day he died. He stepped forward, grabbing his lover’s hand.

They silently made their way down, half of the group in front and the other half behind them. A portion of the basement was empty, dark, and damp. No fixtures or furniture adorned the open portion of the basement beside old rusted shackles that made Dean shiver and shudder at the sight.

Half of the basement was enclosed in an iron room, large vault door locked and intimidating in the center of the wall. It loomed, mocking them.

A large hairy vampire stepped out from the group, setting his backpack at his feet. He pulled a few blocks of explosives from his bag, making Dean’s eyes go wide.

Castiel smirked at his mate’s surprise. “Benny here is good with explosives. He was in the war so he knows what he’s doing.”

Dean watched Benny attach the blocks of explosives to the massive door, all around the handle and hinges. He indicated for everyone to move back, ducking them behind the staircase.

He hit the button on the controller in his hand, making an explosive noise and rain of rubble and iron to fly around the room. Dean’s ears rang, the rubble dusting through the air. Something whizzed by his head, hitting the were behind him. When he turned, the wolf was on the ground, blood soaking into the concrete. He’d been shot.

Dean dropped to the ground, noise returning to him in a rumble and shouts. Two witches went down beside him, eyes glassy and staring. The people around him were in motion, fighting and falling. He couldn’t find Castiel. Fear gripped his stomach. No, no, not Castiel. He couldn’t die, not before him.

He stood and looked around him, he could see both Alistair’s men and his people on the ground, blood puddling around them. Dean could vomit. He pulled a knife from his belt and headed toward the crown, searching for his mate. His people were winning but they still fell, dying.

“Cas?!” He yelled over the commotion. “Castiel!” Please answer.

He was rushed, quickly stabbing and slashing his way through the vampire. He couldn’t see Castiel, not through the writhing bodies or in the corpses on the ground. He stabbed and pushed his way through the mass, heading toward what was behind where the iron door used to set.

Castiel was on his knees, Lucifer was a knife to his throat. His face was bloody and his eyes dark.

Lucifer laughed, seeing Dean. “Aw, poor Dean. Look at your big strong man. He’s on his knees, just like I used to keep your brother.” He pushed the knife in, cutting Castiel enough for blood to release.

“Don’t, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was harsh, commanding Dean not to respond. “Don’t listen to him, _ma puce_. Look at me. Dean, look at me.”

The younger man looked, fear felt like it would swallow him up. He watched as Castiel tried to smile, keeping strong for him.

“Look at you, come so far. You’ve become so strong, so brave. Baby, you’re my world and I know it feels like I am your only reason for living, but you’ll make it without me.” Castiel closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. “I love you, Dean.”

Dean watched as Castiel jumped to his feet, fangs aiming for Lucifer’s throat. The tearing noise filled the room, drowning out the sound of the rumble behind him. Life left the monster’s eyes, falling to the ground.

Castiel turned, knife in his throat. Blood left his mouth, his own and Lucifer’s. Breath left him in wheezes, wet sounding. He stumbled to Dean, arm on his neck.

“No.” Dean caught his falling mate, blood coating him in spurts. The younger man bit into his wrist and pressed it to Castiel’s mouth. When the cut healed, he bit into his wrist again, forcing more blood into his lover.

A laugh sounded from the corner of the room, thick as oil and just as nasty. Alistair. Dean looked up, seeing the man who tortures him forty years. Lowering the limp man in his arms gently, Dean stood.

Alistair tsk’ed, walking in a circle around Dean. “Yes, look at you. You have grown big and strong. You were so small, so weak when I last saw you. Healed nicely.”

“You’re a monster.” Dean said. “You need to be put down.”

A snort escaped the other man. “Right. I’m the one who needs put down. You and your boyfriend here killed almost a hundred men and women! All because I employed them?”

Disbelief soured Dean’s stomach. “Employed them? You let them beat me, bite me, hurt me. I have scars from them, from you.” His voice rose with every word. “It took me years to heal! I was almost dead!”

A big sarcastic frown spread on Alistair’s face. “Oh darn. That’s a shame.” A malicious smile took place. “I should have fucking killed you when I wanted to. I would have loved that, finally taking you, watching the life bleed from your eyes as I fucked your corpse.”

Dean almost vomited. That was his plan? Break Dean so bad and then rape him? He reached slowly behind him, pulling the pins from the grenades. “Too bad you won’t get the pleasure.” He through the belt containing the grenades at Alistair who caught in surprise.

When they went off, holy oil dispersed through the air, burning their flesh. The blast damaged the older vampire’s hands, blowing them almost all the way off. He screamed, hands all but gone and flesh burning. “You bitch!”

Dean raised his knife and sunk into the man’s temple. “I’ll never be your bitch.” He watched as the man fell to the floor, skin still burning. He hissed at the sting, wiping as much of the oil off of his skin as he could.

The remainder of the group gathered at the damaged door, watching the show. The fight was over and Dean was empty. His mission was done and at what cost? How many people died in this fight who didn’t deserve to lose their lives so early. His mate was gone, his den now had no leader. His chest hurt, the pain of his skin muted.

They did it but he didn’t feel like it made a difference. He turned to the group, seeing Benny in the front. All of the faces that stared back at Dean were sad, filled with melancholy. Their den leader was dead. It wasn’t just Dean’s den, it was all of theirs. It was their life too. He wanted to cry. He wanted to lay down next to Castiel and never wake up.

A low moan sounded from the floor, fabric rustling. Dean rushed to Castiel’s side, tears in his eyes. “Cas?” His voice was broken.

The knife was pulled from his neck and bandages from one of the packs was applied to his wound. Dean’s blood wasn’t strong like Castiel’s but it had helped him.

 

They made their way home, limping and carrying the dead. The triage that had been set up was a huge help, taking care of the wounded. Castiel was taken and given blood straight away. The helpers tried to get Dean back to help to care for his burns but he waved them away. He wasn’t going to budge until he could see Castiel again.

When Dean was let back to see Castiel, he broke down in tears, holding his hands. His lover looked small in the bed, wrapped in bandages and blood transfusion attached to his arm.

“I lost sight of you. I lost you and you almost died.” Dean cried. “You shouldn’t have been there. You’re too important, too many people rely on you.”

Castiel stopped him with a hand caressing over the younger man’s cheek. “Baby, you matter too. Those people could make it without me. You could too. But I’m here and I’ll be okay.”

Sniffing, Dean wiped his nose. He loved this man more than life itself. A hundred years with him wasn’t enough. A thousand years wouldn’t be enough either. He hoped he could get that long, hoped to be that lucky.

 

 

Dean sank down on Castiel’s cock, getting filled like he loved so much, his hole already abused. His knees sunk into the mattress, supporting his weight. A moan escaped his lips, his skin turning flush. He shivered when he bottomed out, ass sitting flush against the man below him. Marathon sex on vacation was Dean’s favorite thing.

A hand slid up his chest, caressing and grabbing. “You’re so beautiful.” Castiel breathed, lips on Dean’s neck. “You ride me like you were made for it. Taking me so well.” He moaned when Dean started to move.

His pace was slow, dragging. He wanted to feel the pleasure that was sparking inside of him for as long as he could. Every swivel of his hips had both men moaning and groaning, their breath shallow. “Oh god, you feel so good. You fill me so good.” Dean moaned low.

Sweat covered their bodies in the hot hotel room, blood drying on their flesh. Dean was so full of Castiel’s seed that it was spilling out of him with every thrust. They were tired and sore but this was what they wanted, to fuck themselves into unconsciousness.

They drank from each other’s necks, release spilling at the same time. Dean flopped to the side, exhausted down to the bone. He’d never felt so good. Nothing could ruin his mood. Except for the song playing on the cheap radio on the bedside stand, Billie Eilish or something. He unplugged the clock and threw it across the room where is landed with a thud on the thick carpet.

A ring was slid onto his left hand quietly. Dean stared at it. Dark metal with a garnet and sapphire imbedded in the metal. The stones representing the time of year they were both born. Tears welled in his eyes, searching to meet Castiel’s.

Nervousness wafted from Castiel, his cheeks pink. “Dean, you are my everything. The wind beneath my wings and the blood in my veins.” He laughed when Dean rolled his eyes at the cheesy line. “Long story short, I want you to officially be mine. I know we’re already ingrained into each other’s lives but I want everyone to know.”

Dean nodded his head wildly, attacking Castiel’s lips with his own. If they hadn’t both just come, he’d be climbing back on top of the man. “Yes, you idiot.”

 _Mr. Dean Novak._ Yeah, that had a nice ring to it.

 

 Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. =^_^=  
> Gore comes soon.


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